


The Colors of an Angel

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: White Collar Discussions [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Neglect, Pre-Series Fiction, Psychological Hurt/Comfort, Revenge, gem heist, russian mob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 17:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20474702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: “The Colors of an Angel” is a story which takes place pre-series before Neal was even a blip on Peter’s radar. Actually, the young thief was doing quite well for himself outfoxing the law with brazen thefts and forgeries. Then, one day, Neal has to wrestle with his conscience and assume a new role after an unexpected poignant encounter.“White Collar Discussions”  is a series of separate, unrelated single-chapter stories. Each revolves around a character in the White Collar world. Sometimes they are the ones having the conversations, and sometimes the dialogue is about them. Many of the first fictions happen pre-series before Peter Burke caught Neal Caffrey, and that’s where I’ll start. Others are stories after that had occurred. Eventually, I’ll take it up to the very last episode and beyond. I hope you will take a look from time to time. Right now, I’m presenting this one, the first in a long list. Please watch for them on Sundays and give them a spin.





	The Colors of an Angel

The robbery had gone off without a hitch. And why wouldn’t it when master thief Neal Caffrey was in the house? The particular “house” Neal had just visited was the GIA Tower right in the heart of New York’s diamond district. The Gemological Institute of America had arranged for the temporary loan of an extraordinarily large red diamond for aspiring gemology students to study. It was very valuable not only for its color but also for it’s amazing clarity and brilliance. It was a tempting prize for Neal to steal, but because of its uniqueness, that little piece of carbon would be tough to fence. So, Neal chose to scoop up a handful of blue and white, equally hefty, diamond sparklers instead. It was a lucrative haul and the absence of these items probably wouldn’t be detected right away with everyone’s attention focused on the red star of the show.

The next night, Mozzie took a small chamois drawstring bag with him to a meet with a discrete fence. Unfortunately, the rendezvous never took place because poor Moz had been waylaid, beaten, and relieved of his precious cargo. When the little man finally limped back to his and Neal’s safehouse, he described his assailant as olive-skinned with Slavic features, and made a deductive leap that his tormentor was Russian because of a Cyrillic tattoo on his forearm.

“I thought we had a deal in place with the Russians,” Mozzie claimed as he pressed ice to his split lip.

“So did I,” Neal said thoughtfully as he recalled his history with a powerful reigning Mob family in Brighton Beach. One year ago, he had agreed to help them get their counterfeiting enterprise off the ground by crafting very accurate US currency plates for just a small fee. Afterwards, everyone had parted on the best of terms, and each went on to do their own thing. Neal was no babe in the woods so he knew that counterfeiting was just one of the irons the crime syndicate had in the fire. However, the young thief wanted nothing to do with drugs or brothels, so usually their paths never again crossed—that is, until this latest incursion onto Neal and Mozzie’s turf.

The next afternoon, Neal took himself down to Little Odessa—specifically to a particular neighborhood restaurant. Tall, intimidatingly muscular men watched him approach and boldly enter the nondescript establishment. They were close behind at his shoulders when Neal spied an older male diner sitting alone at a back table.

“Hello, Alexei,” Neal said quietly as he sauntered up.

“Neal!” Alexei Borodin exclaimed with a huge smile. “It’s been quite some time since you have paid me a visit. Sit and have some borscht with me!”

Neal did sink into a chair beside the loud and exuberant Russian, but declined the borscht.

“Then perhaps some of that rare Caspian Sea caviar that you favor,” Borodin urged. “See, I remember your tastes and preferences.”

“You always were a very extravagant and kind host, Alexei,” Neal smiled. “Perhaps I’ll eat a bite later after I ask you about something that has me a bit puzzled.”

Suddenly, the old Russian gave Neal his full, undivided attention. “What is troubling you, my young friend?”

Neal met his stare unflinchingly. “Two nights ago, a handful of diamonds may have gone missing from the GIA.”

Now the Russian offered a wily smile. “I do believe I may have heard something about that.”

“I thought you may be plugged in to everything that goes on in our fair city,” Neal said slowly. “To get on with my story, an associate of mine was on his way to move the ice up the food chain when he was accosted, badly beaten, and robbed. He claimed that the thug was a Russian fellow. Alexei, I thought we had an understanding, so you can see why I’m baffled by this turn of events.”

“Now that is troubling,” the old Russian agreed. “Let me make some inquiries so that I can get to the bottom of this travesty.”

Neal finally did enjoy some delectable Russian caviar before leaving the restaurant and his amiable host. The next afternoon found him walking a beach promenade beside his Slavic acquaintance.

“It would seem that an imbecile who was once employed by me is responsible for your current troubles,” the old man began. “I banished him when he availed himself of one of my products and the drugs made him sloppy and irresponsible. It’s been a downward spiral for him since that parting. Drugs will do that to a person’s brain. I happen to know where he is presently shacked up with some cyka—a whore bitch, in case you are not familiar with that Russian word. Do whatever you think you must. We will not interfere with your revenge.”

Neal did not disclose that he understood Russian very well. That little fact had been a handy tool during his counterfeiting enterprise. It always paid to have an ace up your sleeve because you never knew when it could save your life. The young thief memorized an address and thanked his benefactor, grateful that their business relationship was still on solid ground.

The next day, Neal staked out a dilapidated one-story cottage very near Brighton Beach after doing his recon. The structure probably dated back to the 1950s, and most likely contained a single bedroom, bath, kitchen, and living room crammed into approximately 900 square feet. According to Alexei, this is where Mozzie’s assailant and his latest girlfriend lived. Finally, Neal’s patience paid off when the man in question and his lady friend with bleached blonde hair stumbled out the front door of the house and climbed into a beat-up old Honda Civic. They took off down the street and Neal knew it was showtime.

Quickly making his way around to the back of the sad little hovel, Neal pried open a window and shimmied quietly through the opening which, unfortunately, made him choke back a gag. He had landed in a disgusting bathroom with a wealth of mold in evidence as well as all the paraphernalia left behind after someone had gotten high. Old used needles littered the floor as well as blood-stained tourniquets and crack pipes.

Carefully maneuvering around the debris, the sneak thief hastily took stock of the rest of the premises to make sure he was alone. To his right was an empty kitchen that was just as untidy. Garbage was spilling out onto the linoleum and providing its own revolting aroma of decay. Straight ahead was a small uninhabited living space with a threadbare sofa facing away from him. There was a large flat screen tv mounted on the opposite wall, but it looked as if someone had put their fist through its center.

Neal opted to search the lone bedroom first, and perhaps _Nemesis_, the Greek goddess of retribution, was smiling down on him because he located the small chamois bag of gems in the Russian’s sock drawer. “Now isn’t that just too cliché?” Neal snorted to himself as he slipped the prize into the pocket of his jacket. He was just returning to that germ-infested bathroom to make his exit when a faint voice called out, “Who are you?”

Well, that stopped Neal dead in his tracks. He actually froze and held his breath.

“I know someone’s here,” the voice said again. “I know you were sneaking around trying to be real quiet, but I still heard you because I have very good hearing.”

Neal zeroed in on the words and realized they were coming from the claustrophobic living room area that he thought had been unoccupied. He cautiously sidled into that space to view the sofa from the front and was dumbfounded to see a small boy seated there. He was a skinny child, a jumble of pointy elbows and knobby knees with unruly blonde hair and unblinking blue eyes. It was that unwavering fixed stare that caught Neal’s attention.

“Well, are you going to tell me who you are?” the child asked as he quizzically cocked his head to the side. However, his forward gaze never faltered as Neal stepped in front of him. The stealthy intruder was stymied at first until a suspicion entered his mind. He moved a hand back and forth in front of the boy’s eyes, and instead of being startled, the kid didn’t flinch or blink.

“You just waved your hand in front of my face, didn’t you?” the youngster claimed. “I could feel the change in the air and the slight breeze. People do that to me all the time to make sure I’m really blind.”

“Maybe I might have done that,” Neal answered tentatively.

“Sure you did,” the kid crowed. “Just because I can’t see, it doesn’t mean my other senses aren’t way better than most people’s. I heard you come in through the bathroom window and then go sneaking all through the house.”

“Well, now I’m leaving you and your super senses to enjoy the rest of the day,” Neal mumbled as he turned to leave.

“Don’t go yet,” the boy begged. “Stay for a little while and talk to me. It gets real lonely here all by myself.”

“I’m kinda on the clock here, kid,” Neal explained. “I really can’t stay and socialize. I’ll come back another day when your Dad’s home and we can shoot the breeze.”

“The man who lives here isn’t my Dad. He’s my Mom’s new boyfriend, and he’s really not very nice,” the child said forlornly. “He and my mother won’t be back for a while. Sometimes when they go out they kinda forget about me. Sometimes, they don’t come back until the next day.”

“That’s a real bummer,” Neal replied softly. “So how do you manage by yourself?”

“I can feel my way around and find the bathroom when I need it, or the refrigerator to look for food, if there is any,” the child said proudly. “I’m tough so I can take care of myself, but, like I said, it’s really boring and lonely.”

Neal sighed as he pictured himself as a small boy fending as best he could during his own mother’s dark days of depression. He sat down beside this small, independent waif and sighed. “So what’s your name, Buddy?”

“Jack,” the kid readily answered. “What’s yours?”

“Danny,” Neal quickly provided his witness protection alias. “How old are you, Jack?”

“I’m seven,” Jack said proudly, “although people tell me I look real puny and a lot younger. That’s because I was a preemie baby and came out of my Mom before I was supposed to. And that’s why I’m blind.”

“Well, Jack, it’s a Tuesday, in the middle of the day, so, why aren’t you in school?” Neal asked. The con man turned sneak thief reasoned that surely there were schools for the blind that adhered to the normal 9-3 schedule from September until June.

Jack shrugged. “My Mom says that we move around so much, it would be a waste of time to start in a school ‘cause I wouldn’t finish out the year.”

“So, you’ve never actually attended any kind of school?” Neal asked incredulously.

“Nah,” the plucky kid answered. “But I used to learn stuff by listening to the television when it worked.”

“Didn’t somebody ever come around to find out why you weren’t in school?” Neal prodded. “Maybe that person called themselves a social worker.”

“Nope,” Jack answered decisively.

“Wow, I think you just fell through the cracks, little man,” Neal said quietly.

“What does that mean?” the child asked.

“It means that nobody seemed to know about you so they couldn’t make things better in your world,” Neal patiently explained.

“What’s your world like, Danny?” Jack asked with the innocence of his young age.

Neal wasn’t sure what answer to give a seven-year-old. “I guess sometimes it’s exciting, but other times it’s probably just as boring as yours,” he hedged.

“What do you do for fun?” was the next question from Jack.

“I paint,” Neal answered simply.

“Like with a roller on the walls?” Jack wanted to know. “One time my Mom painted a wall in one of our apartments with something she called a roller.”

“No, not that way,” Neal clarified. “When I paint I use a brush to put colors on a surface until I make a picture.”

“What kind of pictures do you make?” the questions kept coming.

“Well, sometimes it’s something that I see outdoors like a building or a beautiful sunset over the ocean. Other times I might try to duplicate an intriguing face whose lines I find interesting,” Neal tried hard to explain.

“Faces can be interesting,” Jack agreed. “Can I feel your face to get a picture in my mind of what you look like?”

“Sure, I guess,” Neal waffled, wondering when this discussion had taken a weird turn. Nonetheless, he sat very still as the boy stretched up his thin arms to place both of his small hands on either side of his subject’s face. Slowly, the fingers traced over Neal’s forehead, brow ridges, cheekbones, nose, chin, and lips.”

“You have a good face, strong and nice,” Jack declared as he let his hands fall once more into his lap, but not before Neal took note of the dark fingermark bruises on upper arms that were previously hidden under the short sleeves of a tattered t-shirt.

“Jack, does your Mom or her boyfriend ever hurt you?” Neal asked softly.

When Jack just shrugged, Neal pushed. “C’mon, Buddy, you can be straight with me. I’m the good guy with the nice face so you can tell me the truth.”

“Maybe sometimes,” the child finally admitted reluctantly.

“Uh huh,” Neal replied evenly as he let his mind wander into some dangerous territory that he found revolting. The young thief knew he was probably a stupid fool, but he just couldn’t walk away from this situation—at least not with a clear conscience. He was well aware that he had done dumb things in the past, leaping before he looked, and he had paid a price. But maybe being impulsive was just in his nature and he couldn’t help himself. So that is why Neal found himself suddenly asking in an upbeat tone, “Hey, Jack, want to take a quick spin in my world?”

“Yeah, man!” the boy readily agreed. “Listen, Danny, we don’t have to crawl out the bathroom window. We can leave the house by the front door.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, kiddo?” Neal teased. “If I can fit through that little space, then so can you. Let me find a jacket or a hoodie for you. Do you need a cane or anything to walk around once we blow this place?”

“I can just hang onto your arm,” Jack assured his new friend. “That won’t freak you out, right?”

“Oh, Buddy, I never freak out about anything,” Neal bragged. “Now, let’s motor!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal helped the thin child through the window and hustled him down the back alley where he told him to wait until Neal had pulled his car around. Then he had the boy lay across the backseat under a blanket until they left the neighborhood. As Neal drove to a nearby park, he wrestled with his impromptu actions. “Okay, Caffrey, being a forger, thief, and con artist—that’s all well and good. But why in the hell are you adding kidnapping to your repertoire?” His reluctant inner soul didn’t provide any enlightening answers. Sometimes Neal was a mystery even to himself.

Some miles away from the scene of the crime, Jack laid his hand trustingly on Neal’s forearm as they made their way across a manicured green expanse that abutted Sheepshead Bay. Neal stopped near a picturesque embankment and told his hanger-on to cop a squat on the grass. He then sat down beside the kid in the warm sunlight and sighed. “I hope you believe me, Jack, when I tell you it’s beautiful and peaceful here.”

“Can you describe it for me,” the blind kid begged. “I’ll bet there are a lot of different colors right in front of my face. Help me see them in my mind.”

Neal furrowed his brow in contemplation. How do you explain color to someone who has never glimpsed anything beyond an empty void? Then inspiration struck. “Take off your hoodie, Jack,” Neal instructed. After the boy had obeyed and sat up expectantly, Neal asked softly, “Do you feel the warmth on the skin of your arms?”

When the boy nodded, Neal explained, “That’s from the shining sun overhead and that’s how bright yellow feels. Now, run your hands around you on the ground and pull up a few strands of the grass that is growing just under your fingers. That’s how the color green feels.”

“This is fun,” Jack exclaimed. “Let’s do more.”

“Okay, now run your fingers over the sleeve of my leather coat,” Neal instructed.

“It feels slick and smooth,” the boy said, “so what color am I feeling?”

“Black,” Neal quickly answered. “Now let’s get down and dirty, my little friend. Stick your fingers deep into the soil right where you pulled up that clump of grass. Tell me how that feels?”

“Kinda gritty but soft and squishy.”

“Well, then you’re feeling the color brown, Dude,” Neal said happily, enjoying their game as much as Jack.

Eventually, Neal and his little sidekick were content to lie back on the green grass and bask in the yellow sun’s warmth while listening to the birds chirping in the nearby trees. Both were quiet and thoughtful until the reverie was interrupted when the boy’s stomach rumbled loudly. “Are you hungry?” Neal asked.

“Well, maybe a little bit,” Jack admitted. “But we don’t have to leave. We can stay here and maybe play our color game some more.”

“Well, how about we take a little break to feed ourselves. Then we can pick it up again in another place that affords much more inspiration,” Neal promised.

That inspirational tableau turned out to be nearby Coney Island, a bustling cornucopia of sights, sounds, and smells provided by an amusement park nestled along the sea. Neal was amazed that the skinny kid managed to down two hot dogs and a paper cup of French fries without any trouble. Neal tried to balance out the junk food menu by buying a freshly-squeezed citrus drink. “Smell and savor the taste,” he urged. “That’s what the color orange is all about.”

Being an over-indulgent babysitter, Neal even bought the kid some sticky cotton candy from a boardwalk vendor.

“This is like air,” Jack proclaimed. “When I try to hold it in my fingers, suddenly it doesn’t seem to have any shape.”

“You’re feeling and tasting the color pink, Buddy, in case you were wondering,” Neal laughed.

In the arcade section of the park, bells and sirens were constantly going off as jocks tried their hand with loud games of skill. When one over-muscled guy impressed his girlfriend by using a heavy sledgehammer to ring the gong that proved his strength, Neal leaned over to Jack and whispered in his ear. “All this shrill noise—red, definitely the color red!”

Neal’s precise aim with some darts procured a soft little teddy bear for his young friend, and Jack held onto it tightly as they rode the carousel and, eventually, the Ferris wheel. When their car swayed at the top temporarily as other passengers were loaded on, Neal said softly, “We’re on top of the world, little man, high up in the sky near the heavens beyond.”

“What color is that, Danny?” Jack eagerly begged to know.

Before Neal answered, he had to ask, “Are you happy right now, my young friend?” When Jack nodded his head vigorously, Neal responded in a wistful tone, “Then all around you is the beautiful blue of happiness and contentment. Drink it all in while you can. Sometimes that color is hard to find.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dusk came early during the Springtime of the year, and it wasn’t long before lights began winking on in the park. Jack was winding down as well, and Neal knew that his impersonation of a fun playmate named Danny would have to come to an end. He settled Jack and his teddy bear on a bench and sat down beside the kid whose head was drooping tiredly. He quickly typed out an important text to a person that he had a passing knowledge of—one of the good guys, from what Neal could tell. It was rather a lengthy message detailing the plight of one small blind boy who had been physically abused and neglected and was living in a less than acceptable filthy environment inhabited by junkies. Neal was nothing if not helpful, providing an exact address for where the despicable pair were residing. He had worn gloves during his home invasion so he was confident he had left no trace of himself behind if the place was ever dusted for prints. Lastly, he added Jack’s current location. After Neal pushed “send” and got the notification that his text had been delivered, he removed the burner phone’s battery and SIM card and crushed the tiny mobile’s circuitry board under his heel. Then he gently shook Jack’s shoulder.

“Listen, little buddy, I’m going to have to leave in a few minutes, but someone is going to come to collect you very soon. He’s a really nice man named Peter, and you should trust him.”

“Is he your friend, Danny?” Jack mumbled.

“Sort of,” Neal hedged. “Promise me that you’ll go with him. He’ll make sure that you’re never left alone again or hurt by anyone, and that you’ll always have plenty to eat. Maybe he’ll even make sure that you get to go to school so you can meet other kids and learn cool stuff.”

“You think he’ll make my world turn all blue?” Jack asked innocently.

“I’m counting on it,” Neal smiled as he watched Jack’s eyelids slide shut for the last time. The con man/thief/kidnapper glanced at his watch to keep track of the time, and prudently faded into the bushes just before he saw a tall determined man in a Brooks Brother’s suit stride purposely ahead followed by a female agent. The two people easily found Jack, and after checking him over, carried him from the now darkened boardwalk.

~~~~~~~~~~

The following day, a social worker brought the young boy to an FBI conference room. Peter and Diana were waiting for the little guy and had a lot of unanswered questions.

“Jack, do you think you can tell us a little bit about this Danny person who spent the afternoon with you yesterday?” Peter began. “How did you first meet him?”

Jack smiled happily. “Danny dropped in through a window like my guardian angel, and he took me to cool places and we had a great time together.”

“Right, I’ll bet the amusement park was a lot of fun,” Peter replied softly as he glanced helplessly at Diana. “Now, I realize that because of your visual impairment you never got to see this man’s face, but is there anything that you can tell us about him? Maybe you somehow got the feeling that he might have been short or tall, fat or skinny, or maybe you noticed something peculiar about the way he walked or talked?”

“Oh, I saw his face with my hands,” Jack told them confidently. “Danny has a strong and good and perfect face because he’s a terrific person. And in my mind’s eye I know exactly what he looks like.”

“So, can you try to describe him to me,” Peter asked in a puzzled tone.

“Sure,” the animated child readily agreed. “He’s a soft blue color with shades of pink and green and orange, and even yellow and red in his wings. Danny’s really beautiful, but then all angels are supposed to look that way, right?”

Peter Burke sighed. Just how did you put out a BOLO for an ethereal technicolor spirit?


End file.
